


Midnight Hours

by MasonRust



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Drabble, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasonRust/pseuds/MasonRust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's night again on Tracy island, but not everyone can switch off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Hours

Gordon lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling while his mind tumbled and raced through every possible thought. He was up to the hardest part of the evening: switching off. It had always been a chore, a task to try and shove everything into a box long enough for the brain to properly sleep and supply him with vividly bizarre dreams for the next four hours of straight sleep he got. Unlike for Alan, it didn’t seem to matter how much he worked, Gordon’s head still hit the pillow with his brain in overdrive. Shutting his eyes, Gordon lay his head back on the pillow and turned onto his side, relaxing his body. 

What felt like seconds later he ripped the covers off in frustration and threw himself out of bed, only to discover his bedside table residing 2 meters closer than he thought it was. Stifling a yell, Gordon rubbed his toes and muttered under his breath instead. The room was almost un-navigable in the dark, and his light switch was just too far away to get to without anymore accidents. He inched forward, sweeping a foot in front of his body to remove and sense any obstacle before it was able to ambush his toes. When they came into contact with something damp he jumped back, almost tripping back over his table. Gordon reached out, fingers coming into contact with the towel he’d dumped there this morning and he chuckled to himself. No slime monsters would dare invade his room. Not since the mould vs. John incident of 2053. Another chuckle and Gordon finally made it to the door, but his fingers hesitated on the smooth plastic of the light switch. He moved them to the handle, inching the door open and thanking the hinges for not making a racket. The hall was dark, the only light coming from the moon but a yellow gleam was cast across the corridor from the end. Inching forward, careful not to make any noise that could disturb the bear next door, Gordon crept through the corridor. Virgil had never had any trouble switching off, lucky bastard, but he certainly had trouble waking up. But that could easily have been their hours. None of them got enough sleep, and that was a fact. Alan’s room had a slight glow under the door, but it was the moon’s light not the artificial bulbs in his ceiling. Gordon never could understand how he slept with the curtains open to the night sky, but Alan had just shrugged when he asked. John’s room was truly dark, and for a moment Gordon considered entering the absent Tracy’s room to filch a nice, boring book to read. But Gordon left that alone too, the glow from the living room drawing him closer like an angler fishes esca. There was one more room to pass before the end, and Gordon only noticed the light from under the door when he was almost past it. Scott was up. That made Gordon pause again, considering knocking on the white door. Scott was probably reading some literature rubbish, and Gordon could count on him to explain the whole damn ‘idea’ and ‘concept’ until Gordon dozed off. But something made Gordon pause with the fist hovering over the wood. There was something childish about knocking on his older brothers door when he couldn’t sleep, and Gordon was struck with embarrassment at the thought. He removed his hand, standing inches in front of the door. From inside he could hear Scott’s voice, but not what he was saying. Probably talking to John. Gordon paused for a whole second, overcome with a sudden feeling of sadness, paralysing his limbs. Careful not to make any noise the floor creaked anyway as Gordon descended the stairs to the living room. It was empty, the light near the couches left on when the last brother retired. Something about the empty room squeezed his chest, and Gordon was left feeling strange. He didn’t like the feeling, the tightness in his chest and the pressure behind his eyes and Gordon continued through the room, pausing only to turn the light off as he passed. His eyes weren’t used to the dark, but the moon was high and lit everything blue and grey. Padding through the kitchen, Gordon stripped off his clothes and slipped into the pool. The water was freezing, and it took all his self control not to dive straight into laps to warm his body. But swimming was noisy, and he didn’t want to disturb any of the other sleepers. Sliding deeper he pushed away from the edge, wading into the centre of the pool before taking a deep breath and sinking to the bottom. The water pressed against him from all sides, slight pressure on his head. Opening his eyes, Gordon watched the empty walls of the pool through the water. His chest still felt funny, but everything was still and silent and calm. When he was finally forced to crest the surface the pressure was gone, and the calm had sunk through into his head. Turning, he started his laps, swimming until he could barely breathe and his limbs had turned to lead. Flopping across the edge of the pool, legs still in the water, Gordon watched the moon as the wind cooled the water on his body. Swishing his legs around, he stretched and lay back on the concrete, hair forming a puddle of water under his head. Gordon lay there like that until his breathing had returned to normal and the water had chilled to ice. It was only when the wind blew that he realised how cold he was.

Scott had just finished reading the same paragraph for the fifth time and realised that it was pointless to continue. There was a certain level of concentration required for Kafka, and it wasn’t really what he felt like reading anyway. Bookmarking his page, Scott put the book back onto his desk and went over to the shelf to find something else to read. Once it had been full of books in progress and finished, but now the case was more intention. He didn’t get much time to sit down, let alone relax enough to take on something with content. Scott browsed through the various titles he’d read before: old favourites dog eared and stained. In contrast, John’s books were in far better shape but still well loved. Scott settled on The Iliad and retrieved it from the shelf while trying to stop the spine from falling off. Moving back to his desk, he carefully placed the book on the table and leafed through it, starting from about half-way through.

Scott had breezed through half before he registered the light flashing on his desk. Tapping the communicator once, John’s face appeared casting a blue glow across his book.   
“The Iliad and the Odyssey?”  
There was something almost superior in John’s tone, surprised at the least. He’d never really appreciated the same kind of literature Scott did. John’s interests tended towards A Brief History of Time or The Origin of the Species.   
“Couldn’t sleep. What’s up?”  
“Just slow-burners. Nothing that need’s attention at the moment.”  
That was a bad sign. He hated the slow burners, the days and weeks of clean up or rescue. Scott preferred the in and outs, the fast fires or cave-ins.   
“Monsoon season’s already brewing, just as a heads up.”  
“Its early this year.”  
There was a creak outside his door and Scott glanced over towards the corridor.   
“You should get some sleep; the way things are looking it’ll be a valued commodity over the next couple of weeks.”  
“Speak for yourself.”  
John snorted and Scott could see his attention fraying as the holograms arms moved, the hands out of sight.   
“Problem?”  
“Not yet.”  
The slight frown that appeared made Scott grin. The conversation was over, John’s attention already on something else.  
“Night John.”  
He switched off the hologram and settled back into his chair, book open and abandoned on his desk. With a yawn, Scott stretched and stood up, pacing from the desk to the door. Scott could just hear the sounds of water from outside the wood, and he retrieved his book and opened the door. In the corridor it was louder, the sound of Gordon exhausting himself on laps up and down the pool. Standing in the doorway, Scott glanced once at his bed before moving down the stairs. He wasn’t tired anyway.

When Gordon finally dripped his way up from the kitchen the light in the living room was back on, but this time the room had an occupant. Scott was sitting on one of the couches, holding together a battered paperback.   
“Couldn’t sleep?”  
Scott lowered the book enough to level Gordon with a properly parental stare. Gordon almost started fidgeting, automatically coming up with excuses.   
“You’re not in bed either.”  
It came out far more petulantly than Gordon had intended. Scott just shrugged in response. He turned another page and Gordon didn’t move, water beginning to puddle around the soles of his feet. Before he realised that he had made a decision, Gordon moved over to the couch, plopping down next to Scott. Yawning, the room began to blur slightly in front of Gordon’s eyes, the many-armed statues merging into more-armed statues. He leaned back into the couch, sinking lower into the cushions. Another yawn, and Gordon rested his head on Scotts shoulder. He could practically feel the raised eyebrow Scott shot him.   
“Shut up.”  
Now he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and Gordon found them pinned together with lead.  
Ten pages down and Scott dog-eared the corner of the page and stretched to put the book down on the table without disturbing Gordon. He had switched off like a light, and his hair was currently soaking damp through Scott’s shirt. Scott tipped his head backwards across the back of the couch, watching the ceiling. Only minutes later, he followed Gordon’s lead and drifted off to sleep.  
The light that streamed through the floor to ceiling windows was blinding, and Gordon found himself blinking awake at their touch. He was alone in the room, but Gordon wasn’t cold despite the chill in the morning air. Scott was gone, the only trace he’d been there the battered paperback on the table and the blanket over Gordon’s legs. The house was still and silent and Gordon grinned while he stretched, settling back to soak up the silence. When the sun lifted into the windows he stretched again and wandered down to the pool before throwing himself into the water. It was time for his laps.


End file.
